


Save

by DustToDust



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories crowded up and tried to edge out the present, showing him all the ways this could go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Request off Tumblr showing Clint being unexpectedly skilled at something (and NOT useless). Focuses more on Phil, but I see Clint's skill at handling Phil as part of the request.

Phil refused to lick his lips or give in to the urge to scrub away at the sweat gathering on the back of his neck under the wire wrapped there. He refused to think about the last three agents that had been caught by this particular man, and how there hadn't been much left for the burials. He refused to think about any of it because it did not matter. Dunn lay in a pool of his own blood and wouldn't be taking up any more contracts against SHIELD in the future, and Barton's fingers worked through the tangle of wire and circuits attached to Phil's chest steadily.

Thick fingers followed wires from circuit to circuit. Untangling the mess of useless leads from the actual inner workings of the explosive. The decoy pieces dropped to the ground with a clatter as Phil silently counted down the time in his mind already knowing he shouldn't trust the words of an enemy. They could have more than three minutes left to disable the trap set around Phil, but it was more likely that they had less. Much less.

"Feeling like Chinese tonight," Barton said, his words dropping casually into the thick silence they'd fallen into after Dunn breathed his last on the agent's knife. "Think we can find a place around here?"

"Probably not," Phil's voice came out tighter and hoarser than it should. He swallowed twice and his next words came out appropriately droll and unaffected. "Chinese isn't the usual cuisine people look for in Brazil."

"I'll bet I could find a place," Barton grinned, wide and lazy, at the challenge. His eyes didn't shift from the tight tangle below Phil's sternum. His fingers flexed and a large knot of wire fell away leaving a battered looking metal box with four wires Phil could see running out of it. "Nat said she had the best Thai here the last time she went. There's gotta be a decent Chinese place somewhere." 

"As long as we don't miss extraction," Phil allowed, tilting his head down to watch Barton pry the box open, exposing another circuit board that looked exactly the same as all the other ones he'd ignored or pulled off. Barton hummed in satisfaction, seeing something that Phil wasn't and pulling a knife out of his boot. Small and sharp, he poked into a crevice Phil couldn't see. "We won't be missing it, will we?"

"Course not," Barton jerked the knife suddenly, his grin becoming satisfied as he sat back on his heels and looked up at Phil. "Soon as we get you out of that jewelry I'll start looking."

"That's it?" Phil blinked, looking down dubiously at the wired mess still wrapped around him. Nothing had visibly changed, but explosives weren't his area. That it was one of Barton's had been an unexpected surprise that came out only after Phil had nearly swallowed his tongue when the man had started cutting seemingly at random earlier. The rope around his wrists frayed under Barton's knife and Phil winced as blood rushed into his numb left hand. "Seems rather anticlimactic."

Barton laughed, helping Phil kick off the wire loops left on him. "You say that like it's a bad thing we're getting out of this unharmed for once."

"Hardly," Phil carefully stepped over the box covering the actual explosive and tried not to show how badly he wanted to get away from it as he pulled on the sleeves of his suit jacket. A vain attempt to straighten out the wrinkles gathered through his short captivity. "I'm just surprised. It's been about five years since I haven't had to fill out injury reports for one of your missions."

"Lies! Vicious lies, all of it," Barton showed no fear as he dropped down to fiddle with the explosive. Twisting and cutting wires almost too fast for Phil to follow, rehooking the smaller circuit he'd cut off of Phil back to it. 

"Really," Phil deliberately made himself turn his back on the bomb and reminded himself that Barton knew what he was doing. The whole thing wasn't going to blow up in his face. "I have the paperwork to prove otherwise."

"You fill out paperwork, in triplicate, for papercuts I get doing my after action reports," Barton rolled up the wires he was working with and stuffed them back in the box. "Injuries after the fact shouldn't count. Also, run."

Phil waited the half second it took Barton to take lead and followed the agent out of the building and into the empty street that had been Phil's first inkling that something was off with their op. Their car was in plain site just down the street and Barton didn't slow as he headed toward it. Phil felt the shift in the air as his hand brushed the drivers side door seconds before the explosion went off.

The noise was deafening and the flash of light lit up the darkening street as Phil turned to look. The blast wave rattled in his chest and for a moment Phil wasn't in Brazil. Wasn't perfectly alright and on his way to safety. Wasn't breathing clear air only slightly tinted with smoke. Listening to the echo of the blast in the otherwise silent air.

"Hey."

Phil turned away from the smoking building and didn't shake off the hand that lay on his shoulder. Steadying and supporting as he pulled his mind away from the past. Barton slid the keys out of Phil's pocket and pushed him away from the door. Phil breathed in once and made his way to the passenger side. His mind was settled by the time the car had turned the corner. Back to the present and already readying the report he'd be typing up on the flight back to the States.

"So," Phil turned to Barton, who didn't ask or pry, and allowed himself to feel incredibly grateful, "Chinese?"


End file.
